


Texas Home

by MrsMollyH



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Car Sex, Community: spnkink_meme, M/M, POV Alternating, Semi-Public Sex, Texas, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2395238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMollyH/pseuds/MrsMollyH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is a sophomore at Trinity University in San Antonio. Jared is the TA in his creative writing class. </p><p>For the prompt, "Jensen is a student in a Writing 201 class, Jared is his TA. Jensen keeps bringing in papers for Jared to read over and give feedback on. It wouldn't be a problem--that's Jared's job--if it weren't for the the filthy, filthy, porn on the pages. Jared's straight, he swears..." at SPN Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Texas Home

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this depicts actual places in San Antonio, Texas. Trinity University and Northrup Hall both exist, as does Bombay Bicycle Club.
> 
> I do not know these men in real life. This is entirely a work of fiction. Unbetaed, any errors are mine.

The sun was beginning to drop in the sky like an over-ripe orange when Jensen walked into his 3-hour seminar creative writing class. It was a once a week class that began at nearly six at night, held in a beautiful building on campus that’s nearly wall-to-wall windows that look out on beautiful downtown San Antonio, Texas. It’s a drenchingly hot South Texas day, and Jensen’s green eyes are shaded by a pair of aviators. He can feel sweat beginning to stick the cotton of his shirt to his shoulders, but he revels his return to campus. 

Jensen Ackles, a 6’1” Richardson-native, was attending Trinity University to earn his B.A. in History and minors in Creative Writing and Sport Management. This was Jensen’s first foray in to this proposed minor, and he was looking forward to beginning it, despite some trepidation. As he sits for the class, the professor, a tall, olive-skinned man with a healthy salt-and-pepper beard who goes by Professor Morgan introduces himself and the class TA. His TA, whom Professor Morgan had introduced as “Jared Padalecki,” was tall. And not run-of-the-mill tall. He was huge, generously over six feet and had shoulders like Jensen had only seen on television. The TA’s eyes were bright and mercurial: sometimes green, sometimes blue, usually hazel but damn if Jensen wondered if he might just fall right into them. Jensen noticed, with unchecked pleasure, that Jared’s email and cell number were readily available on the syllabus—“should anyone have any questions, or need any advice,” as Jared put it in his introduction. Jensen really, really hopes that Jared has the same extracurricular interests as he does. Jensen’s attention is blown, and despite the introductory exercises Professor Morgan gives, he has difficulty focusing. Professor Morgan closes the first class by giving out a handout and an assignment for their first short story, due at next week’s class.

Jensen honestly doesn’t think twice when he writes his first story with a lead character named Gerard. It literally doesn’t occur to him that the character is 6’4”, with ever-changing eyes and thick, shoulder-length chestnut hair. And sure, there’s some sex in the story, and sure, the description is pretty thorough, but he’s a college student with a creative writing minor—a story has to be interesting. It’s not until he meets Jared at the library to discuss the piece the Thursday before it’s due that he notices Jared’s brow crinkle just a bit as he reads it.

Jared puts the piece down on the library table and looks at Jensen. “It’s good, man, it’s uh,” Jared clears his throat, “It’s detailed. You have a really solid sense of voice and the plot has a good clip to it.” Gently, Jared rests his fingers on the typed page. “You’ve got a lot of talent.”  


_Thrilled_ barely describes how Jensen feels. The words are like fire that lights over his body. He knows he’s smiling a little too wide, but hell, he’s feeling good about his writing.

“Thanks man,” Jensen says, smile unabated, “I’m glad you like it.” Jensen puts his pen to his lips—an old nervous habit—and smiles from behind it. He’s unabashedly pleased when Jared returns the smile, despite the fact that Jared drops his eyes to the table when he does so—either way Jensen got a glimpse of the dimples he was looking for. “I’ll see you tomorrow at class, then?” Jared looks up and nods an affirmative. Jensen gathers his piece, his notebook, and stuffs it into the maroon backpack he slings over his right shoulder. Offering Jared a quick nod, Jensen turns on his heel and leaves the library with a wide grin on his face.

*** 

The pattern continues that way, with Jared and Jensen meeting up to go over the piece Jensen has written for each class. With each story, the character he writes about shows fewer and fewer differences from the TA that Jensen has come to admire. By the third story, there’s so much sex that Jared’s brow is furrowed for the whole read-through, and there may be a bit of sweat making his hair kiss the back of his neck. Once again, he tells Jensen—truthfully—that the piece is good. He offers a few tips, and Jensen once again leaves with a bounce in his step. It’s almost nine at night, and the sky is dark outside the wide windows of the library.

What Jensen is not aware of, though maybe in his heart of hearts he hopes for it, is that the stories that he keeps having Jared look over have Jared questioning most everything he knows about himself.

While Jared used to fulfill most of his jerk off fantasies with petite, buxom brunettes, the number of scenes Jensen has put together and the amount of cock in each has Jared coming in his hand at the thought of emerald green eyes, dusty blond hair, and forearms that peek out from under the rolled-up sleeves of an over-worn and over-loved button down shirt. And after watching Jensen walk out of the library this time, Jared realizes he needs a beer. Or a shot and a beer. Or maybe multiples of both. So, gathering up his backpack and his scarf, he makes his way to his truck, which is parked just down from the library, and heads to the bar that every Trinity student knows and loves: Bombay Bicycle Club. It’s a homey bar and a study in contrast, with photos, posters, and memorabilia jammed in each corner and over every inch of the walls, while the seating is vintage velvet armchairs and hardwood tables. Trophies, tin beer signs, old Trinity photos, all of it paints a story of a bar that grows up with its patrons. There’s a mirror at the back of the bar, so that the life of the drinkers is never far from the eye: the place is constant motion surrounded by lush fabrics on tufted sofas and high-dollar lamps. 

Jared sidles up to the bar and orders a beer, his eyes fixed on the mirror, habit as much as anything else. After he takes the beer from the bartender—Genevieve, his favorite of the barbacks here—he scans the bar, his eyes moving over faces he’s familiar with. He lifts his head in greeting at a few people, but his gaze stutters to a stop when it falls on the one person he thinks he maybe shouldn’t be around.

Jensen is at the corner of the bar, standing with a handful of friends, nursing a beer. The light from the hodgepodge of lamps and chandeliers makes his hair shine like water in a silver pail, and Jared can make out the curve of his lashes and the smattering of freckles across his cheeks. When Jensen takes a drink of his beer, lifting his head back and parting his lips, Jared’s knee jerks hard into the bar, and he grunts, startled.

Jensen’s head turns at the sound, and goddamn if that boy’s face doesn’t light up like a hot Texas morning. Jensen extracts himself from the group of friends in which he had hidden himself and strolls over, legs bowed like a good Texas boy’s should be, and is Jared really having these thoughts right now?

“Hey Jared,” Jensen looks up at him appraisingly and runs his tongue over his lower lip. It catches just for a moment on the hook of a white tooth before slipping back into his smiling mouth.

“Hey man,” Jared returns the greeting, if with a bit of a stammer. The air feels heavy to Jared, like a weight pressing on his shoulders, hot and heavy like it is outside even though it’s nine at night and it should finally be cooling down, but it’s hot and sticky and there’s sweat and liquor and damn if Jared isn’t so sure he can catch his breath. Jensen’s eyes are lights like he’s never known, bright, shining, and full of doe-eyed admiration and his pupils are blown, and it could be the beer, but maybe it’s lust and Jared is to the point where he would most certainly like to know. The thought has him draining his beer bottle and signaling Gen for another one, and with a quick point of a finger, he indicates to give Jensen another round as well. Jensen places his elbows on the bar and kicks his hips back, a boot cocked on the railing at the base of the bar, and his worn jeans stretching over bowlegs. His arms are tan and hard beneath the fold of his faded red button-down, which falls to his hips over a black t-shirt, and Jared really wants to believe he’s not checking Jensen out, but he is. 

Jared leans against the bar sideways, the wood carving into the muscle of his side, the pressure a good distraction from the staring he very much wishes to be doing. He doesn’t think about the fact that he has condoms and lube in his car. He doesn’t think about the way Jensen would look with his lips stretched wide over his cock. He doesn’t and he does and he thinks maybe he’s lost most of his control, and maybe he’s okay with that.

Jensen takes sips of his Stella Artois and he’s going on about the classes he’s taking and Jared is both listening and not. With a tentative motion, Jared turns his body so that his arm is touching Jensen’s. And Jensen’s hot to the touch, alive and vibrant, and he smells like something Jared can’t put his finger on, but it goes straight to his dick, and he clears his throat nervously. 

“Listen, man,” Jared starts, and Jensen just barely touches his hand to Jared’s arm. 

“The answer is yes,” Jensen says, point clear, meeting Jared’s eyes. It’s almost a challenge, but there’s too much electricity in it. Jared pulls out his wallet and puts a crumple of money out for Gen, who winks at him.

Jared turns and walks out of the bar, Jensen trailing him. They make it all the way to the driver’s side of Jared’s truck before Jensen shoves him against it to take his lips in a bruising kiss. Their tongues meet, and Jensen’s hands are hot on Jared’s shoulders. Jared grunts and bites at Jensen’s lips, taking ownership and licking into Jensen’s mouth, loving the heat within. 

“In the truck,” Jared says between kisses, and Jensen fumbles with the handle before they both are in the rear of the cab, and Jensen’s spread along the bench seat in the back of Jared’s truck, all long and lean. With a lithe move, Jared leans forward and pops his glove compartment open, grabs the small bottle of lube and a condom that he had put in there after Jensen had showed him his second story.

Jared is hard in his pants, and Jensen palming himself through his jeans. He tosses the lube on the seat next to Jensen, and deftly undoes the button of Jensen’s jeans, unzipping them and shucking them to his knees, pushing his shirt off over his shoulders. Jared maneuvers Jensen onto his hands and knees, and the man under him moans, a hard keening want noise, and it goes straight to Jared’s cock.

“Wanna open you up and take you just like this,” Jared says. Jensen is taut with anticipation, and the sound of Jared rolling the condom on his dick is something Jensen never knew he’d hear and it’s even better than he thought. The air is hot and still in the truck, and sweat is dripping down his back and no, the positioning is not perfect, but that telltale _snick_ of the bottle of lube being opened has him breathing so shallowly that he’s almost lightheaded.

The slow burn of Jared’s first lubed finger is an inexorable push of his limits. Jensen pushes back against it, hungry for more, and Jared obliges, adding a second finger and scissoring it. 

“You look so good like this,” Jared whispers, and Jensen feels like he’s on fire as Jared’s fingers push and pull within him. Finally, Jared adds a third finger, and it’s too much, and Jensen is begging him wordlessly, writhing on Jared’s fingers like it’s the only thing in the world.

Jensen breathes hard as the taller man removes his fingers, and then, finally, he feels Jared breach his hole. Jesus Christ, he’s big, but Jensen hadn’t dared to hope and this feels so fucking good because Jared is pure fire above him and there’s sweat dripping from both of them because the truck is still off and it’s easily still ninety degrees outside. Jared grunts hard as he begins to thrust, his large frame almost too cramped in the back of the truck, but then he gets his rhythm and slowly but surely, he finds that bundle of nerves in Jensen that has him keening low and hard. Jensen’s right hand moves to his dick, palming it, working himself with hard strips of his hand.

“So good, fuck, you feel so good,” And Jared places his hand over the hard globe of Jensen’s ass, fucking in and out, eyes almost shut except for the fact that he doesn’t want to miss the clench of the muscles in Jared’s back.

Jensen responds in kind, fucking back against the hard cut of Jared’s pelvis, rocking his ass so that each thrust hits the sweet spot and his fingers are clenching against the interior of the truck, begging for purchase and finding none. Jensen turns his head, meets Jared’s eyes, mercurial and beautiful as ever. There’s almost no hazel-blue left, they’re all pupil and all needfuckwant. Jensen drops his head back to between his arms and arches his back, forcing Jared in deeper and Jared hisses at the change. 

“Jesus Christ,” and Jared’s rhythm begins to falter, and Jensen’s hand picks up speed on his own dick. Jared’s thrusts stutter once, twice, a third time, and he’s grunting, coming hard and Jensen strips his cock for just seconds and he’s coming in his hand, hot and thick.

They both breathe hard, sweat dripping down their necks and faces in the Texas heat. Jared pulls the condom off and ties it, tossing it outside the truck. Jensen wipes his hand off with his discarded overshirt, then folds it away. Jensen looks at Jared from under his eyelashes, and Jared’s got his head on the headrest, throat bare and dripping with sweat, breathing finally slowing. They sit there, in comfortable silence, heat of their bodies steaming up the truck windows, taking each other in. It’s not perfect, but it feels like home.


End file.
